


Ashes to Ashes, Dust into Blood

by Nehszriah



Series: Fae and Fantasy Doctor Who AUs [10]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood, F/M, Fantasy AU, Gore, I've been attempting to finish this since October but work gets in the way, Magic, Magic AU, NSFW, Oral Sex, Sex, Slow Burn, Smut, Vampire AU, Vampires, Violence, Witch AU, Witches and Warlocks, loose interpertation of what vampire lore is, lots and lots of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 15:36:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13344216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehszriah/pseuds/Nehszriah
Summary: While following her mother’s book as a travel guide, witch Clara Oswald stumbles upon a castle in the mountains, complete with villagers that won’t go near it. Who is this Doctor who owns the castle and why has no one alive seen him?[vampire/witch AU - 10,034 words - contains Whouffaldi/Souffez/Whouffle, sex, gore, violence, and mashing of vampiric traits]





	Ashes to Ashes, Dust into Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Witch and Vampire Whouffaldi](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/350433) by Randomthunk. 



> A/N: This has origins in a couple different places that are not Whouffle/Souffez/Whouffaldi. One is that a very dear friend of mine is an amazing artist and did the original concept in some Inktober pieces (which you can get on her etsy shop, RandomThunkArts!). Second is that I love the overall feel and world-aesthetic in Akira Toriyama’s short manga Cowa!, which is something that I recommend to people in general if they love them some spoop, especially if they want some kid-friendly manga. It has spoopy monsters and humans living side-by-side, both getting along and not so much. Third, and this is really bizarre considering the first two, is that my boyfriend and I were watching a bunch of Hammer Horror movies on TV this past October, Christopher Lee’s Dracula in particular, and let’s just say I was having a crisis… that my boyfriend finds terribly amusing considering I’m also fond of Bela Lugosi’s Dracula and… let’s just say it was a clusterbomb. (s9’s Heaven Sent doesn’t help with Twelve in that castle.)

Once, high in the mountains and away from others, a castle sat shrouded in mist. The man who lived there was a lonely soul who had long ago learned that misery would be his only constant companion in his life. For if one would give him the barest glance it was clear that the man was a vampire… and a particularly long-lived one at that. His name was long-forgotten, lost to the ages, and anyone who knew of him only referred to him as the Doctor. He had called himself that as a young man, for he loved to help people, yet now he was old—so very old indeed—and his manner had become one that was cold and distant.

Well, it was not that anyone could have known he was an old man simply by looking at him… oh no. His hair was brown, his face youthful, and the air he put on was impeccable. Yet, if one did so happen to gaze into his eyes… oh, those were the eyes of a man who had seen generations come and go before him with nothing he could do to save even a single soul without cursing them to a life of gloom and melancholy. He was old as his castle, and no one truly knew how much it hurt but him.

Until one day, much like all the others, the village in the valley below the castle was visited by a young witch. She was small, yet terribly brave and clever, and her travels had brought her far from home. That was why when she asked about the legendary castle she read about in her book, she was confused by the silence that met her.

“Why does no one speak of the castle?” she asked. Her book open, she placed the tome on the tavern bar and frowned at it. “This was my mum’s book; it’s never lied before.”

“The Doctor’s castle is a strange place these days,” the barman explained gravely. “A cart with no rider comes every week with a grocery list and money for payment; once it’s loaded, it takes off, and no one goes either to or from the place otherwise.”

“…for how long…?”

“Around fifty years now, give or take—I was a lad when the last visitor went to the Doctor’s castle and she never returned. It’s not forbidden by law or anything… it’s simply that no one has any need to go there, so we don’t, because we’re people who enjoy keeping our noses clean. That was her choice and she knew what she was getting into.”

That made the young witch curious. What sort of man was this Doctor? She sat astride her broom the following morning and floated the way up to the castle. What was normally a two-day hike only took her half the morning, and by midday she was staring at the crest emblazoning the front door, all circles and glyphs. She knocked on the heavy wooden surface and it opened, revealing no one inside.

The witch wandered about the castle, looking for signs that it was even inhabited. A simple spell could have made the door open on its own long after an owner had turned to bones and dust, meaning that any assumption she could have gathered was immediately out the window. All afternoon she searched, until her growling stomach found that it was not in the kitchen, but a portrait hall, with paintings of all different “Doctors” lining the walls, with the youngest being of a slender man of an age with her.

“In case you were wondering, they are all of me,” said a voice. The witched looked and saw a vampire standing a few feet away, positioned so that he was just out of direct sunlight coming in from the window. He barely appeared to be a year older than the portrait in front of her, yet the paint was cracked and dry with age. “I didn’t know that breaking and entering to get inside a vampire’s home was the fun thing for kids to do these days.”

“Wait, you’re the Doctor, _and_ you’re a vampire? Really? If so, then how are these _all_ paintings of you?”

“My body turns to dust when I die. When I am reconstituted, my face changes and I start my life anew.”

“How are you… reconstituted…?”

“Blood,” he replied frankly. “When blood mixes with my ashes, I rise in human form once again. Since one cannot technically live twice, I change faces each time. Same man, different body; haven’t you ever met a vampire before this?”

“There’s not exactly many of you lot wandering around,” the witch said. She stepped towards him, holding out her hand. “Name’s Clara Oswald.”

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Clara Oswald.” He shook her hand carefully, his eyes flickering towards the bare skin of her arm between her glove and sleeve for only a moment. “What brings you all the way out here?”

“Bit of travel, see the world, all that sort of thing,” she replied. “Do you really remember all your past lives? Each time you were them?” She gestured towards the portraits, knowing her lack of complete and utter terror was puzzling him.

“Yes—every single one.”

“That’s interesting, but…” The witch grimaced at being cut off by the growling of her own stomach. “Would you happen to have anything to eat around here?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, I do,” the vampire said. He offered her his arm and they went through the castle towards the kitchen. The witch was glad to see that the pantry was indeed well-stocked, and that the vampire took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves to begin making them both dinner. “How long do you plan on staying in the area?”

“Not sure—is that an invitation?”

He chuckled at that, pulling things out of cupboards. “If you’d like it to be; it’s not every day I get a visitor, and one who is not searching for the castle monster.”

“Why would I want a monster when I have a perfectly good vampire in front of me instead?” she smirked. “Never met a vampire before—you’re not that bad.”

“Glad you think that,” he replied. “My people are… they aren’t generally the nicest to run into in a dark forest.”

“Doctor, I’m a _witch_ … some catch one glimpse of me and think they’re going to turn into toads if they don’t pop off and leave me alone.”

“…well, do you…?”

“Only when they _actually_ irritate me, which happens more often than you think.” They glanced at one another and shared a smile, knowing that at the very least, they were now friends.

* * *

Late the following morning, the witch stretched the sleep from her limbs as she marveled at her good fortune. For being absent from most maps, the vampire’s castle was surprisingly well-accommodating. After they had dinner the night before, he had shown her to a room where she was able to set out her things and take as long a rest as she needed. While she did not mind camping under the stars, there were very few things she missed while on the road quite like a soft mattress. She dressed and found her way back towards the kitchen, where she discovered the vampire writing a list.

“Isn’t it dangerous for you to be up right about now?” she wondered. He shrugged, continuing to examine the contents of the cupboards carefully.

“As long as I don’t step in direct sunlight? Not really, though you are correct that I do my best work at night.” The vampire muttered lowly to himself and scribbled on his pad of paper. “Do you like apples? I’m not a fan, but maybe my taste buds have changed since I last had one.”

“You don’t have to get anything special for me,” the witch said. “I mean, I don’t want to impose…”

“At least give it a week, please?” he insisted. “It’s nice having someone other than Handles to talk to every now and then.”

“Handles…?”

“Ah, just a war helmet I keep around from days gone by—if you don’t at least _pretend_ to talk to someone, you start to get a bit loose up there, if you know what I mean.” He tapped the end of his pencil on his temple and winked. “Apples?”

“Yes please.” She watched him carefully, a thought popping into her head. “What do you do for money?”

“Excuse me?”

“Tavern owner says you pay for groceries and supplies, but you don’t seem to have a job, nor a title that demands taxes or tribute be paid,” she observed. “How do you do it?”

“I had a job during a past face—a well-paying one at that—and I invested some during that time. A warlock sends me money via magic any time I ask for it.” He turned towards her and raised one of his delicate eyebrows. “Are you always this nosy when you’re a guest in someone else’s house?”

“Possibly—maybe a bit bossy too when it comes down to it,” she replied teasingly. “If a witch doesn’t know her prospects, then what else is there?”

The vampire turned red and went back to his list.

* * *

A week passed and the witch did not seem terribly pressed to leave the castle. The vampire was an interesting and charming man once his barriers were smashed by her disposition, and he welcomed her presence without question. Before long she found herself cleaning out a spare room in one of the lower basement levels, setting up a workspace for her potions that had restricted light, yet still a window poking out of the mountainside to give her ventilation.

“Why yes, Clara, I would love for you to stay,” the vampire teased one evening. He was watching her from the doorway, a cup of tea in one hand and a horned battle helmet hooked in his other arm. “Whatever happened to asking?”

“This isn’t a bad place, and I can tell that you’re in more need of a roommate than you care to admit,” she replied frankly. A flick of her wrist and her broom put down the cauldron it was carrying across the room and began to sweep instead. “Don’t worry—I’ll contribute to the bills. My mail-order service is rather profitable when I am able to stay in a single place for long enough.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed a… _roommate_ …”

“Handles isn’t going to cut it; sorry.” She ignored the insulted noise the vampire made as he stuffed the helmet on his head and walked away with his cuppa. There was too much work to be done if she was going to get her business up and running again, and everything needed to be just right.

* * *

Although no one new came to the castle, business was quickly booming. Utilizing her strategic position in the building, the witch was able to fill orders and send them on their way without any disruption to the rest of the house or the village. Packages and orders zoomed in and out the north-facing window, the position of which still allowed light into the room—though not directly—which kept not only her supplies from spoiling, but her housemate from dying every time he came to visit.

“This definitely is something,” the vampire marveled one day as he sat watching her work. “I’m more of a scientific man myself, but it is really two sides of the same coin, isn’t it?”

“Pretty much,” the witch shrugged. She stirred her cauldron slowly, not wanting the potion to burn. “I used to actually teach some basic spells on the side as well, but that stopped after Danny died.”

“Who’s Danny?”

“A human I used to know.” The way her face darkened told him that it was a bit more complicated than that, causing him to press no further.

“What sort of magic do you specialize in? You seem to get a lot of business. Are they love spells?”

“Those so-called witches are a dime a dozen, preying on those who are as magic as they are smart,” she scoffed. “I’m talking _real_ magic: curses, hexes, wards, and whatnot. My stuff is some of the best, and it wouldn’t be surprising if there were people who attempted to use some of my spells against one another.”

“If that were the case, which would win?”

“They’d negate and then the idiots would be left out of some pretty hefty coin.”

“I like it,” the vampire nodded. He turned towards the helmet sitting on the table next to him and regarded it seriously. “Yes, but it’s only _technically_ a con in that specific situation, since she doesn’t officially know if that is what really happens.”

The witch rolled her eyes and continued stirring the cauldron; only the Doctor.

* * *

“Why does no one come here?” she asked. It was over dinner one night a while later, when neither was sure how long she had been there anymore. “I mean, there’s plenty of people just a short ways down the mountain, the way up isn’t forbidden, and from what I saw it’s a manageable hike and an even better ride, yet there’s no one that bothers with this place, not even to look for work.”

“Who lives in the village?” he posed. She had to think about that, chewing her veg slowly.

“Humans, mostly,” she replied. “Some dwarves, a couple nymphs, an Orgon or two…”

“They’re all terrified of me,” he said, cutting a piece of his raw steak. “My last houseguest was the daughter of two humans I befriended while they were traveling. She and I fell in love, and she’s been dead now for years. I don’t know what they think about the fact she never came back down the mountain, but they do think _something_ , and whatever it is scares them even if they don’t admit it.”

“Rubbish,” she scoffed slightly. “You have got to be one of the kindest vampires there has ever been.”

“Kindness, mercy… things that I love, yet never know myself,” he frowned. “Why do you show this old, worn-out creature such comforts?”

“Why not?”

Silence hung over the air, halting the conversation without a thought or a care. The witch, knowing the sort of tension that sat between them, stood and walked around the table to where the vampire sat. After a moment of hesitation, she eased herself down into his lap, steadying herself by draping her right arm across his shoulders. She then removed the glove from her left arm and placed her hand on his face. He ghosted his fingers over her skin, sending a shiver through her, and brought her forearm to his lips, kissing tenderly before biting down to draw blood. Only a few droplets seeped out, yet that was enough. He licked it away, feeling life pulse through him, which made him shudder as well.

“Would you,” he murmured against her arm, “like to come to bed with me?”

“Don’t you sleep in a coffin?”

“Only during the week of the summer solstice, no more,” he explained. “Otherwise I need sleep just as everyone else, in a proper bed.”

“…like your need for food and drink…?”

“Precisely.”

She put her hand in his and allowed him to lead her to his bedchamber, leaving the dinner cleanup for the morning. He clung to her as they slept, chastely and fully clothed, the feeling of another being in his arms lulling him into the most restful night he had in at least a score years. The way they felt as they slept on was more peaceful, more serene, than either had known in what had felt like a very long time.

It was perfect.

* * *

It all changed when they wanted to take a walk.

Twilight was upon the castle, painting the sky in brilliant pinks, oranges, and purples, with the first of the night stars beginning to fade into existence. He led her outside where they walked arm-in-arm, talking in shushed tones whilst exploring the grounds together, frost on their breath.

When dusk was nearly upon them, the vampire began to grow tense. He sniffed the air with caution and disdain, knowing that they were not alone as they had thought, and that it would not end well.

“Be careful,” he growled lowly. The witch could see the anger in his eyes, though at whom, she did not yet know. With the rustling of leaves and the heavy snap of a twig, she spun around and fired a blast of magic into the darkness, ricocheting off something that caused it to splinter the trunk of a young tree instead.

“Your magic will not work on me, _witch_ ,” a voice spat. Out stepped a man neither the witch nor the vampire had ever seen before. With a thick cloak, a metal spear in his hand, and weapons hanging from his belt, he appeared to be dressed for war. The witch threw another blast at him, which he deflected easily with the cloak.

“Who are you?!” she snapped.

“That does not matter,” the stranger said. “What matters is that I am here to defy the prophecy and crush your unnatural union into oblivion, keeping the world safe.”

“What the…? What’s that supposed to mean?” she wondered.

“It means that we’re in an unfortunate situation,” the vampire cut in. He stepped between the witch and the hunter, putting on his most agreeable face. “Now considering that my dear friend and I don’t wish to die, and you probably are in that same boat, I think we need to sit down and talk about this, preferably over a nice cuppa.”

“I know what I have been contracted to do, and it shall be done,” the stranger said. He pulled a pistol out of its holster, aiming it at his quarry.

“Really, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” the vampire frowned. “Guns are bad—so very bad—the world was a much quieter place before them.”

“Uh, Doctor, he’s going to kill you!” the witch hissed in his ear. He leaned back and down slightly, wringing his hands.

“Don’t worry; only sunlight truly can, from the looks of his arsenal,” he replied quietly. “Soon as he empties his gun he’ll realize that, and then we can fight back without any worry of repercussions.”

“Any last words?” the hunter asked.

“Oh, just one: Geronimo.”

“Doctor!”

“Die, and may the Hybrid die along with you!” He fired his pistol, hitting the grinning vampire in the thigh.

“It’ll take more than a bullet to kill—” The vampire looked down at his leg and panic began to set in as he could feel his muscles solidify.

“Silver wrought from a crucifix; better than a wooden steak in my book,” the hunter smirked. The vampire turned around, knowing that his time was limited.

“Clara,” he whispered, “you have to run! He’s cleverer than I thought! Get away from him!”

“Not without you! Why aren’t you running?!”

“Because I…”

The witch watched in horror as the vampire’s body began to disintegrate into a pile of dust. It slipped through her arms and fingers, pooling at her feet. She could barely believe it—he was gone.

Suddenly, their opponent took advantage of her distraction and attacked. He speared her in the shoulder and scowled in disappointment.

“I missed,” he growled. He took the spear out of her shoulder, allowing the blood to flow. It took barely any time at all for the witch to collapse in shock, her eyes wide and body growing cold.

The man lifted his spear to deliver the final blow, only to stop mid-action. Where the witch’s blood had begun to pool on the ground, dust from the vampire’s body met it hungrily. The mixture began to bubble and quickly grow, all from the few spilt drops. The witch as barely conscious as she watched a body form on the ground next to her. Gone were the youthful features he had donned before, replaced by grey hair and a worn face. The instant his skin ceased to bubble, the newly-reconstituted vampire gasped in a breath of air, gulping it down in desperation.

“Clara!” he cried out as he sat upright. He glanced down and saw there was no light in her eyes. Acting quickly, he took a glove off her hand and bunched it up, placing it on her shoulder and pressing down. “Hold on one moment, Clara—I have you.”

“Devil’s work!” the hunter hissed. He locked glares with the vampire, neither man about to stand down. “You truly are a monster.”

“My people may be cursed,” the vampire snarled, “but that does not make me a monster. Can you imagine outliving all those you love, without the guarantee of an eventual death, because anyone, anywhere, at any time, can summon you from the grave?” Now he was standing, his menace by no way undercut by his nakedness. “I have stayed in my castle, only harming those who mean harm to others, and this is the thanks I get? You attempt to murder my only companion in _decades_ simply because we are together?! That people fear what a vampire and a witch could do if given the chance?! Well let me tell you something! We _are_ the Hybrid, and that makes it so that nothing, and I mean **_nothing_** , is going to stand in our way!”

“Fairly bold talk for a man who has already died once today,” the hunter frowned. He reloaded his pistol and took aim. “All I need to do is make sure your remains don’t touch blood. Now that I know the secret, I have nothing to fear.”

“Try again,” the vampire spat. “The world is a very small place when I’m cross with you, and right now I’m beyond cross. I. Am. _Livid_.”

The Doctor bared his teeth and hissed at the hunter before lunging at him. In an instant the pistol fired, the sound of the bullet hitting a tree trunk ringing through the air. The hunter attempted to dodge, but it was no use—a cross vampire was much faster than any human had hopes of being—and he screamed as fangs sunk into his throat. Skin and sinew punctured easily and the red warmth that spurt forth into the vampire’s mouth tasted almost sour.

“Doctor… please…” the hunter wheezed. His voice was barely a whistle, his final gasp being as the vampire clamping his jaws down harder, collapsing the trachea and snapping neckbones.

“The Doctor is not here right now,” the vampire growled as he let the corpse drop to the forest floor. “You have to deal with _me_.” His pale eyes, now a bluish-grey, glinted in the moonlight as he allowed his rage to take control, a primal state of mind enveloping his senses and slowly turning his sclera red. Blood dripped from his fangs as he stood there, the urge to feed nearly overwhelming his very being. Towering over the corpse, he readied himself to rip into flesh while it was still warm, feasting as he had not done for such a terribly long time, when a voice came to his ears.

“D… Doctor…?”

In an instant, everything became clear again. The vampire scrambled towards the witch, scooping her up from her bed of leaves and fallen needles to bring her back to the castle.

All the witch knew were vague images and disjointed sounds as she found herself in the arms of a man with a gentle burr to his voice, saying her name so reverently it nearly seemed a prayer as she slipped further and further into darkness.

“Clara… hold on… my Clara….”

* * *

Time passed, though how much, the witch did not know. What she was aware of, however, was the warmth and comfort that surrounded her as she floated back to consciousness. Despite the fact her shoulder was throbbing, she was so content that it barely registered as pain at all.

“Please, keep still,” a voice requested. The witch snapped her eyes open and saw the vampire in his new form. Had it been a week ago, he might have been well-groomed, she imagined, but his navy-colored coat and white shirt were rumpled and his hair disheveled from worry.

“Doctor…? Is that you…?”

“Yes, now be still Clara—your shoulder isn’t better yet,” he insisted.

“I have salves for this,” she said, looking at her own wound. She quietly took note of how she was in a clean nightdress, with the spot where she had been stabbed carefully wrapped in bandages.

“I know; I couldn’t tell them apart.”

That puzzled her. “You could before…”

“New face, new set of rules,” he shrugged helplessly. “At least I remembered emergency medical procedures this time.”

“At least you have eyebrows this time around,” the witch giggled. He turned his face from her and she tutted consolingly. “Second shelf, fourth in from the left; the bottle should be green glass and the cork covered in white wax.”

Without a word, the vampire left the witch’s bedside, returning twenty minutes later with the salve in question. He placed it down on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the mattress, helping her sit up in bed. After she eased the collar of her nightdress down, he went about taking off the bandages and exposing the wound. The hardened scab was still fresh enough to crack and ooze, the sight of which sent a flicker of rage across the vampire’s face, only to vanish into concern.

“I can take it from here,” the witch said. She reached for the bottle, only for the vampire to take her hand in both of his, bending forward to kiss her knuckles.

“Let me,” he said. “You live in my house; I have a duty of care.” He locked gazes with hers and watched as her brown eyes grew wide and surprised before she nodded her head slightly.

The vampire placed the witch’s hand down on her lap and began his work. He broke the seal on the bottle and poured some salve into his hand, exhaling on it slightly before easing the cream into her wound. She attempted to not squirm in place, the effectiveness of her work startling her.

“I didn’t realize it stings that badly,” she hissed. “Maybe I should update the warnings I put on the labels.”

“That was me,” he said plainly. He saw the confounded expression on her face and decided that, yes, he would give her some leeway considering her condition. “My breath can close wounds and my saliva numb pain—how else do you think vampires are able to take sleeping victims without them waking to sound an alarm?”

“Those are… rather odd things I did not know,” she replied. The witch looked at her shoulder as he reached for the bottle again, seeing that the scab was bubbling and shrinking without a mark. “Are there any other things about my boyfriend I need to be notified of? What was the Hybrid that man was talking about?”

Instead of answering, the vampire continued to rub more of the salve into the witch’s shoulder. Once it was gone and the scab was little more than a freckle, he eased her back down into the pillows and kissed her forehead.

“I am not your boyfriend,” he stated. He put the bedding back over her and made sure she was settled in. “Sleep now—you still need plenty of it for what is happening underneath your skin—I can smell it.” He then left the room, unaware that the witch’s voice was caught in her throat, rendering her protests silent.

Then… what were they…?

* * *

Down in the village, a light snow whipped around in the wind, making it doubly difficult to get around that evening. The tavern owner didn’t bother tossing any of his regulars out onto the street because of it, working around them as he mopped up, deciding it was best to leave everyone to sleep until morning. He had just put the mop into the wringer when the front door slammed open, a thin silhouette standing in the frame.

“Blimey—get your arse in here!” he gasped. “It’s older than a witch’s teat out there!” The newcomer calmly closed the door behind him and stepped past the threshold into the wan light of the main room. With no outercoat on his person and just a light cloak, the owner stared at him curiously. “Where are you from? You have to be chilled to the bone with the weather out there…”

“Who sent him?” the newcomer asked. His tone was dark and deliberate. A pause settled over them, which only served to irritate the man. “I asked a question; is your brain composed of a pudding, or is there actual thought in there?”

“Hey, look here mate—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the owner frowned. “Who sent who now?”

“You know everyone and everything that passes through this village; your entire family has for generations. Now: _who sent him?_ ”

“I don’t even know who _you_ are!”

Within the blink of an eye, the tavern owner found the stranger had suddenly crossed the room and was now standing mere inches from him. Though the irises of his eyes were the palest blue, the sclera was a thickly-veined red, and his grey, wind-blown hair surrounded his face as though it were an unholy halo as he repeated his question in a hissing growl.

“ ** _Who sent him?_** ”

“Shit!” The tavern owner stumbled back into a table, sending the chairs all knocking about and waking the regulars strewn drunkenly across the room. “You monster! What do you want with us?!”

“I am the Doctor, and I am the man who merely makes the monsters go away,” the newcomer replied, “and unless I am informed otherwise, the only monsters I see in here are the lot of you.” He waited for even the smallest snippet of information, yet the response he received was an empty tankard being thrown at his head. Easily catching it, he let it drop to the floor as he glared at the perpetrator: a half-woken drunk with an ale-soaked front.

“Get out! You aren’t wanted here!”

There was a spurt of blood and that was when the screaming began.

* * *

It was nearly dawn when the witch decided to get out of bed and investigate where her housemate had gone. After the shock of watching him turn to dust before her, the sight of him had been welcome at first, yet… there was something about him now that she could no longer place. She wandered around the castle in her nightdress and a robe, her slippered feet making soft noises against the floor.

When she was on the main staircase, the front door opened and shut creakily, signaling someone’s entry. A quick look and she saw it was the vampire, looking wind-whipped and ragged as he leaned against the solidness of the door.

“Where have you been?!” the witch asked as she descended the stairs, her tone nearly sharp. “It’s almost dawn—don’t go getting yourself killed again when you just got a new face! I’ve been worried!” She was at the bottom-most step when she could see the vampire clearly in the candlelight; his clothes were stained dark and red was splattered against his ivory skin, having dribbled from his mouth down his chin as well. He glanced up and saw that her eyes had grown wide and she was covering her own mouth with her hand.

“Don’t go to the village—they make terrible conversation partners,” he stated. He walked past her and went up the stairs, towards the room he kept right next to hers. “I will see you in the evening.”

Except, when the sun set and the vampire had cleaned himself up, he found that his companion would no longer talk to him as she once did. The witch stared at him with a look of concern, not about herself, but about the man standing before her, the one whom now was so _different_ from the version she had known up until very recently. It broke his heart to see, forcing him away in a manner he never quite knew before.

How could she be so close, yet suddenly so far away? Why did she not see him? What had changed between them? He did not know.

* * *

The days grew shorter and the rift between the vampire and the witch stayed in a tentative state. She took to isolating herself in her workshop by day and keeping away from him by night. He would wander the castle by himself instead, attempting to regain some of his old routine, only to discover that he no longer had any need for the war helmet that had kept him company for the better part of a few centuries. Every night he would make them dinner, and that was the only interaction they had despite the tenseness that hung in the air. They did not even share a bed at night, as had become their custom before the attack—chaste as the act was—and the lack of a return to normalcy was a loud, obvious conundrum that neither was sure they wanted to acknowledge.

It was near the solstice when the wall that had been erected between them crumbled. They were eating dinner one night in silence when the witch’s patience finally cracked, with her slamming her utensils back down on the table before shooting the vampire a glare.

“Why?!” she snapped. “Why did you attack them like that?!”

“They withheld crucial information,” he stated simply. “I only wanted to find out who wanted us dead.”

“…and you decided to do that by killing people?!”

“I did not kill.”

“Then the blood that was dripping off you?!”

“A warning—nothing more.”

“Sheesh… it’s not like the accent wasn’t enough, but you have to be brusque about things as well?” she groaned. “Next you’re going to have your own mood lighting.”

“I thought you would accept me now that I finally look how I truly am,” he fired back. “Would you rather I had kept a mask on?”

“No, that’s not it at all. It’s just…” She exhaled heavily as she trailed off, her heart not into an argument. “I know you’re the same man, looking as you are instead of how you felt was better for others, it’s just… how did _we change_ as well?”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, you don’t seem to anymore.”

The witch calmly excused herself and left the kitchen, quickly making her way back towards her workshop. Everything was becoming too complicated for words in such a short amount of time. She sat down at her desk and opened her ledger; some numbers would help clear her mind. Lists were good—lists helped compartmentalize her life, as she had found, and that helped to separate the average from the fantastic. There was so much to this life she was leading now—living in a large, proper castle with a vampire for a housemate and her business booming—that she often feared losing the grip she had.

She had just been able to calm down when there was a light knock on the door. The vampire poked his head in, watching her from afar.

“I do understand,” he said, “but not in a way that is as obvious as you’d prefer.” He walked into the room when he noticed she was not banishing him, and stood next to her desk. “What I know now, above all else, is the most obvious thing in the world to me.”

“…and what it that?” she wondered.

“You will never be any different to me,” he claimed. “Never be different, look different… nothing has changed despite the fact my face has.”

“If this is the way you feel… then why did you say that you aren’t my boyfriend?”

“…because I am only one thing now, and likely shall be one thing until my body turns to dust and reforms once more,” he replied. Bending down onto a knee, her took her gloved hand in his and, after tenderly removing the fabric, kissed her palm. “ _Yours_.”

A jolt went through the witch, one more intense and unexpected than anything she had felt before. Looking at the pale pools of color that were his eyes, she swallowed hard and nodded in realization.

“Would you like to come and be with me?” she asked. “I know it’s early, but…”

“Yes,” was all he said, and that was all she needed. The witch closed her ledger and held the vampire’s hand as they walked together up to her bedroom. He put her glove on a table and closed the door behind them—a habit that he had never lost while living alone.

Once the witch sat down on the edge of the bed, that was when the vampire began to do his work. Getting down on his knees once more, he eased her boots off of her feet, exposing the stockings underneath. His long, nimble fingers took care of the garters, caressing her bare skin with care. He kissed the inside of a leg before standing back up to kick off his shoes and discard his jacket on a chair. Going back to her side, he crawled into bed atop her, gingerly resting some of his weight onto hers.

“I nearly lost you,” he murmured against her throat. He licked her skin in a slow, deliberate manner, knowing that the numbing agent in his saliva was working as she moaned in satisfaction. Pricking her neck with his fangs, he drew just the amount of blood he needed to sustain himself before breathing on the punctures, cauterizing them.

“Why was that man attempting to kill us?” she wondered. It was a terrible time to ask, but it had been on her mind so often as of late that she needed the answer before she allowed things to go further. Her back arched as he reached around her and unwound the back laces to her dress, sliding fabric off her shoulders towards her waist.

“There is an ancient prophecy,” he said into her hair. He took hold of a breast as his other hand stroked her bare back, encouraged by the little noises she was making. “Most ignore it, but it says that one day, a Hybrid shall be born of two great and powerful races. It shall cause the downfall of civilization, destroying a billion, billion hearts to heal its own. It sounds like an old tale to prevent romance between species, yet there are some who take the warning to the gravest possible conclusion.”

“So by attempting to prevent the Hybrid, that idiot might have _caused_ the Hybrid?” she replied. Pushing forward, she was able to sit on his lap and begin to undo his shirt, carefully undoing the studs down his front and at the cuffs. She took off her remaining glove and dropped the shirt studs in before depositing it on the floor. Gazing back at the vampire as she loosened his shirt, she noticed the way in which he was visually soaking her in, eyes filled with a sort of lust and desire she had never seen before.

“He very well might have.”

He waited until she had shoved his shirt off him before kissing her deeply, pressing their bare torsos together. After tumbling about the bed in an effort to gain dominance, he pushed her onto her back, nipping playfully down her collarbone and chest. He lavished the tip of a breast with his tongue and lips, chuckling at the aroused whine she made.

“Not as cold as they say, but _they_ were probably not speaking from experience,” he hummed. He knelt up in order to unbuckle his trousers and watched her as she removed the last of her dress. By the time he was naked as well, she was already up and kissing his mouth, attempting to push his shoulders into the bedding.

Tenderly breaking the kiss, the vampire took hold of the witch and eased her down onto the bed. He rubbed his erection between her legs, feeling the intensely hot slickness waiting there.

“This time, it is about love,” he crooned softly. “Please let me demonstrate my love you, for everything you have done for me, and then, I swear, you may do with me as you wish.” The witch leaned up and pecked his cheek, looking up at him through her lashes.

“Alright then,” she agreed. She draped her arms around his neck and wrapped his legs with hers. Meeting his kisses eagerly, the witch waited patiently to see what the vampire would do.

Except when he finally nudged himself inside her, confusion swept across the witch’s face. He remained where he was, kissing her throat as their chests stayed together, rocking his hips gently into hers. She had thought that having a vampire sexually would have been more, well, _strenuous_ , yet this was as though she had welcomed a simple human man into her bed. Thus she lay, paying close attention to his movements. Every press of his lips was a silent declaration and the way his hips went from swaying to thrusting only accentuated the outpour of devotion that was slowly enveloping them both. Tears fell from her eyes and down to the pillows, wetting his hair as she turned to kiss the grey fluff that was besides her.

This man was not her boyfriend. He was not some elicit lover, nor was he merely a partner in whatever sense of the term one wanted to use. The man in her arms, pouring his entire being into her pleasure, was her other half, the one who kept the days interesting and worthwhile, and he was the only one that she wanted to be with. He was a man that would—and had—killed for her, and she would, if she dwelled long enough on it, would kill for him.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured, slowing his pace. He kissed the tears away, continuing to lavish her with all the affection and desire he could muster. Picking up speed again, he brought her close to her climax, stopping only to shudder and silently moan as he abruptly emptied into her. With his face contorted in pleasure—eyes shut tight, brow furrowed, and mouth open—the sight of him melted the heart of the woman staring up at him.

A couple more thrusts after recovering and it was the witch’s turn to be taken by surprise by an orgasm. It was not the most illustrious one she had ever experienced, and in fact was probably rather dull if she thought about it enough, yet the thing that made it so important was the care that went into creating it. She brought the vampire down to the mattress after it was over, allowing his head to rest on her shoulder for a pillow.

“Thank you,” she whispered into his hair.

“…for what…?”

“…for making me feel so special.”

“Funny you should say that,” he mused. “Because that was a thank you for exactly the same.”

* * *

Hours passed and the witch found herself waking to the vampire’s lips traveling across her throat, fangs dragging against her skin though not pricking it. She hummed in satisfaction as he nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck, hands attending to the rest of her bare body. The feeling was _phenomenal_.

“Naughty,” she teased, giving him a squeeze. The vampire propped himself up on his elbows and took her forearm in his hands, kissing and licking until he numbed a spot enough to puncture the skin with ease. She watched him lap up the dribbling blood before breathing on the wounds; within moments they were scabbed over.

“What…?” he wondered, having caught that she was watching him.

“Nothing,” the witch said. “Do you need blood often?”

“More often than I normally have it, yes.” He averted his eyes, so pale and wild in the wan candlelight, and scowled. “This body is new, and it needs more sustenance than it did before.”

“Take from me all you like,” she said. The vampire kissed her hand instead, pressing the skin to his forehead.

“To take all the blood I need right now from your veins would kill you. It will be a while before I get there, mostly by going out to hunt a rogue animal or two while you are asleep, but I shall manage.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He leaned into her touch as she begun to stroke his hair and scratch at his scalp. “I normally would have drained our assassin dry, but you needed my attention more.”

“…and I appreciate it, thank you.”

“…and I appreciate the life you gave me, spilt unwillingly, yet not wasted.” The vampire’s kisses began to travel across the witch’s skin once more, although this time he made his way down her body until he was knelt reverently between her legs. He maneuvered himself and her hips until he was able to kiss, lick, and tease everything that he desired, listening to the delighted sounds coming from the woman who made his nights and days all worth living.

After crashing into her orgasm, the witch noticed something as she attempted to catch her breath. Any of the discomfort she normally felt after being pleasured, by another or her own hand, was gone as the vampire continued his dutiful act. She writhed in jolts of euphoria, shouting louder and louder until there was no crest, no climax, but a constant deluge that took her breath away as she rode it out. How long it took before he stopped and let her rest, she did not know, though her head was spinning when she finally saw his face again.

“Are you alright?” he asked, almost sheepishly.

“…wow…” was all she could manage. She shakily lifted her arm and brushed her fingers across his cheek, unable to remain steady with the surge of emotion still coursing through her at an unbelievable rate. The witch smiled tenderly, and as she did, she broke out into rough, messy tears.

“What’s wrong?!” he wondered. Panicking, he sat them both up and wrapped a blanket around her, holding her close to his chest as she continued to cry. “Clara?! Are you alright, Clara?! Clara?!”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” he sobbed. “I’m just… happy…”

“These kinds of tears are happy…?”

“Yes, you idiot. I am very happy.”

He kissed her and held her and wiped the tears away, no matter how happy they were. He was now hers and she was his, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

The days and weeks that followed were ones of intense satisfaction for the vampire and witch. They carried on much as normal, with her working on her mail-order business while he did everything from minor assistance to making sure they were both fed. Every chance they could manage to steal was spent together, from strolls and meals to making love whenever they could. They knew their devotion was unparalleled in the valley and mountain range—possibly even the world—and no one would stand in their way…

…not as though no one tried.

The days were becoming longer once more and the equinox was fast approaching. The vampire and witch were sitting in a parlor one afternoon, the former painting the latter as she sat in the sunlight balancing her books. Everything was peaceful, until the vampire placed down his palette and brush, attention brought towards the window.

“Wait… what’s that noise…?”

The witch looked up from her work and glanced around the room. “What do you mean? I don’t hear anything.”

“Clara, I need you to look outside into the sunlight, please,” the vampire said. She furrowed her brow and stared at him, sensing that his worry was more than simply paranoia. With him following close behind, she crossed the room and pulled back the curtain all the way so that she could clearly see outside.

Her stomach nearly found her throat—a mob of villagers approaching the castle, just as in the horror stories her mother used to tell her as a child. With no more threat of biting cold, wind, and snow that the winter months had provided, they were fully able to make their way without anything to slow them down.

“Men from the village, it looks like,” she reported. “My guess is that they’re using the daylight to move so that they’re safer from you.”

“What they fear is completely of their own creation,” he said darkly. The vampire waited for the curtain to close before approaching her, holding the witch in his arms. “The doors and wards can hold them until nightfall; then I shall turn into what they fear and make them pay.”

“What was that you said about the Hybrid not being you, but the both of us?” the witch smirked. She snapped her fingers and her broom flew into the room, eagerly awaiting her. “Stay here and watch from safety—whatever I don’t take care of now, you can clean up later.”

“Deal,” he grinned.

Her steps light, the witch opened the window and sat down on her broom, sitting astride it as she made her way towards the encroaching, positively medieval, mob. It only took her a few minutes of flying high above the treetops to reach them, laughing high and clear once she did.

“…and what are you lot here for?” she asked, staying a decent distance above the villagers. The panic that set in on their faces was genuinely priceless. “I’m sure it wasn’t just to stare at me.”

“You…! You killed a man!” a villager shouted.

“I did not personally, no, but I can assure you that any life-ending maneuvers were made in self-defense only,” she replied. “Wouldn’t you try to fight back when someone tries to murder _you_? It is only natural.”

“Then why did the Doctor nearly kill twelve men?!”

“Key word there is ‘ _nearly_ ’. All he wanted was to know who sent someone to murder us. If that had been answered, then he would have left well enough alone.”

“…and how do we know that you are telling the truth?” one of the villagers asked. The witch glanced down at the child—because that was truly what she was—and regarded her curiously.

“You are simply going to have to trust me.”

“…and if we don’t?”

“Poof—toads,” the witch replied. “I’ll enjoy doing it, I won’t lie, but I don’t _want_ to do it either; causes too much trouble.”

The child stared at her, contemplating a retort. “How can you prove that you don’t want to do something, even if it is what you enjoy?”

“You’re all still very much _not_ toads, aren’t you?”

Considering that argument rather sound, some of the villagers nodded amongst themselves. They enjoyed being what they were, and it was very true that the witch could have transformed them without warning, giving no one a chance. One of the older villagers stepped forward, looking up at the witch.

“Do you promise,” he asked, “to leave us alone as we have done with you, going back to providing you with a source for food and supplies? We are prepared to war with you and your lover, but saving the lives that would be lost is much better.”

“He is not my lover; the Doctor is much more of a legitimate figure than that,” the witch stated. “You cannot put what we are to one another in words, and that is the only truth in the matter.”

“Still, would you accept an offer of peace to prevent war?”

“I shall, provided I am given information about who it was who tried to kill the Doctor and me.”

“No one knows,” the elder villager frowned. “We asked all through the winter, and the only person anyone saw in the last fifty years head towards this castle had been you. We knew that you had not died due to the change in groceries, that it stayed changed, and it did not seem as though you tried to escape. If you want to stay here, why try preventing it?”

“…then it was not about the prophecy?”

“Most of us who are human still have the blood of others in our heritage—that sort of thought was ended long ago because we can only survive the harsh mountains together.”

The witch pursed her lips in thought. This villager seemed as though he was telling the truth sincerely as possible, but at the same time there were plenty of things to contradict him. There was the former existence of the assassin, for one. Secondly, the villagers all there seemed prepared to fight to the death… something a peace envoy normally was not equipped with. Even the fact that he was being rather even-handed in the middle of a horror-story mob was suspicious, for mobs were made on reactions, emotions, and rage, not debate and side-sharing.

One chance was all it took, and in the end, what would the Doctor have wanted?

Mercy, probably. His eyes were still weighted with the ages and likely always would. It was easy to sow war and destruction, but mercy and kindness were the things that made all those years easier to bear. She gripped the broom tightly on either side of her, glad they were far enough away to not see her tremble.

“Leave now, and send any word if you discover the identity of the assassin or the one who sent him,” she ordered. “If you do, the Doctor and I shall forget this ever happened and will continue as things have been. Is that a deal?”

The villagers talked amongst themselves. Most agreed outright, now that the fury they possessed when setting out from their homes had been taken out on the hike, and were able to convince the remainder to at least not oppose. They went back towards the village as the witch watched them, her broom keeping her just out of sight and range. Once they were a decent enough distance away, she zoomed around the castle, protecting it in a temporary ward that she had every intention of doing properly later. Now, however, the sun was nearly about to set and she needed to be inside quickly. She flew back into the castle, to where the vampire was waiting for her with open arms and a warm smile.

“Not a single drop shed,” he murmured into her hair. “I much prefer that to the alternative.”

“What… a vampire not liking bloodshed?”

“Keep giving them reason to hate you and they will find a way to bring you down; wipe out the source of the malcontent and suddenly you have no more support system and you have to rely on _squirrels_ for sustenance,” the vampire scowled. “I don’t want to have to eat squirrels for the rest of my lives.”

“Point taken,” she chuckled. The witch popped up on her toes and pressed her lips to his. “They promise to give us a name if they find one.”

“Good… although I doubt that will happen.” He began to kiss back, his hands traveling her body hungrily. There was only so long before he needed her, the vampire knew, and now it was only a matter of time. He frowned when she gently pushed him away instead, biting her thumbnail in thought.

“Where do we go from here?” she pondered. “There may be others who want to prevent us from being together, and what should we do if that sort of thing happens again?” She glanced over at, only to see his fangs glittering from the candlelight in his grin.

“Go to Hell,” he said. “To Hell with them and that’s where we shall dump them off. Anyone foolish enough to cross us has a prophecy to answer to, and I am more than willing to remind them of that.”

He picked her up in a hug, spinning slightly as they clung to one another. With his cloak wrapping around them, they reveled in the warmth and comfort that their home possessed once again. When the vampire put the witch down and gazed into her large, brown eyes, so loving and passionate, that he was lost once again.

This face was not his face. Oh no; it belonged to Clara Oswald, and Clara Oswald only, no matter what anyone was to say. He bent down and kissed her wrist, reigniting that all-important spark between them. One whiff of her scent, of her blood running through veins just under the skin, and he was gone.

* * *

Time passed.

Seasons came and went without much thought in the quiet village in the valley. They mostly ignored the castle looming above them, talking of the occupants very little aside from putting provisions on the riderless cart when it came. The list of supplies would change every so often, growing and growing before slowly shrinking again. Many theorized on the revisions—everything from guests to the prophecy becoming multiple corporeal entities instead of an intangible relationship—yet none would make the trip up to the castle to prove themselves right or wrong; why make the risk when there was nothing to gain? They minded their own business and that was that.

Eventually there was not a soul remaining in the village who remembered the time the Doctor descended upon the tavern in a fit of rage, nearly slaughtering half the village men at the time. Whispers and rumors and old wives’ tales, maybe, but few took such things seriously. The Doctor, Clara Oswald, and the Hybrid faded into legend once more, the only proof being a cart that would appear requesting weekly provisions for one.

Until one day, much like all the others, a woman came stumbling from the trail that led to the Doctor’s Castle. No one had ever seen her before, agreeing that her large mane of hair and dark skin—although not unwelcome—would have made her stand out enough to notice had she made her way through the village prior. She was brought to the pub, where the owner had her husband quickly get some food while everyone crowded around the mysterious newcomer.

“What are you doing here?” the owner asked gently. “No one has come or gone from the castle since my grandfather owned this place, from what we can tell, yet you’re barely younger than me. How did you even get there?”

“I… I don’t know…” the woman said. She stared at her palm and flexed her fingers, studying them in the lamplight. “I lived there with my grandfather, and that was all I knew… is all I know. I’m looking for him.”

“We’ll help you,” the owner replied. “Do you look like him, or do you resemble someone else in your family?”

“I look like my mum… I think… I don’t really remember her… or anything of much, really. Just woke up outside the castle and when no one let me in, I came here.” The tavern owner’s husband then arrived with some food and a tankard full of water, putting it in front of the stranger, who stared at it. “What’s this?”

“Potatoes, some roast chicken, a bit of greens… thought you would’ve been starved.” He looked at her curiously, confused as to why she was confused. “You act like you’ve never seen food before.”

“I’ve seen food, and I can even cook it; it’s just…”

The woman dipped the tip of her finger into the tankard and her hand began sparking. She pulled it out and saw the myriad of surprised faces surrounding her. They knew what she was—a Cyberman made of wires and metal instead of muscles and bones—but why was she here, and why was she not destroying everyone?

“I’m looking for my grandfather,” she repeated. “You might know about him? He calls himself ‘the Doctor’.”


End file.
